


Say Goodnight (Just One More Time Please)

by wardo_wedidit



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Background Relationships, Cancer, M/M, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has had cancer since he was a child, but it was successfully treated with chemo and he went into remission. Now he's in his twenties and living on his own. He just broke up with his long-term boyfriend, moved to a new city, and gotten a new job when it starts to recur. And to make things worse, he's developing feelings for his new nurse, Dustin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Goodnight (Just One More Time Please)

**Author's Note:**

> **Optional MAJOR spoiler alert available on[livejournal](http://serenatechair.livejournal.com/20560.html)!**
> 
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> 
> Two photosets that inspired this fic, made by the lovely [Jill](http://thethreelies.tumblr.com/) , which were inspired by _Coma_ , the tv-miniseries Joe Mazzello was on (which is in no way associated with this fic, except for possibly borrowing one line) are [here](http://wardowedidit.tumblr.com/post/31246257391/thethreelies-hes-your-half-dead-possibly) and [here](http://wardowedidit.tumblr.com/post/43689164158). Part of [tsnrarepairfest](http://tsnrarepairfest.livejournal.com/), beta'd by the fantastic [Alex](http://sweetmadness379.livejournal.com/) and [Rea](http://hold_onhope.livejournal.com/). Title is from the Teddy Geiger song [“A Million Years”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W8wdEX2zP00)
> 
> AMAZING [FANMIX](http://princewardo.livejournal.com/5015.html/) BY [Mina](http://princewardo.livejournal.com/), GO GO GO!

  
_say goodnight (just one more time please)_

//

_“if i lived for a million years_

_i would be right there to catch your tears_

_will you get over it this time_

_or is this the last time…”_

__//

Chris hates hospitals.

Well, no one ever _likes_ them, but Chris hates them more than most people. 

He’s been in and out of them for years, of course. But he’d done so well avoiding them recently that he’d forgotten just how much he loathed them. 

It wasn’t _irresponsible_ like his mother’s immediate response was to say—he’s just been really busy, so when symptoms started cropping up again, he’d assumed it was just tiredness from everything. Changing jobs and moving to a different city and breaking up with your boyfriend of three years is kind of a lot to handle in the span of a month; it can make you kind of forget about things. 

Until you pass out at work and everyone freaks out. 

The worst part (more than his mom calling him “irresponsible”, even though he’s been dealing with this most of his life and this is really the first time he’s slipped up) was that it just brought back all of Brendon’s criticisms from their breakup. Chris had been the one to initiate the breakup, but that didn’t make the cutting words he got back in response any less painful. The accusations of being a workaholic with tunnel vision who ignored all the other problems around him? Yeah, that had been a little too on the nose for Chris’ liking. 

So that’s how Chris spent his first visit at the new hospital in Palo Alto. Not exactly ideal. 

“Awake, _finally_!” says the guy in scrubs who comes trooping in. He has red hair and a wide smile, the kind that is a little bit infectious. “Unconscious is so _boring_ ,” he whines as he picks up Chris’ chart, winking a little to let Chris know he’s joking. 

Chris just blinks at him. “And… you are?”

“Dustin Moskovitz, one of your nurses,” he responds immediately, moving to offer a hand, which Chris shakes. His hands are warm. 

“Chris—”

“Hughes,” Dustin finishes cheerily for him, waving the chart with a lopsided smile. “Chart, not a mind-reader,” he clarifies, and Chris genuinely laughs, almost shocked by it, a little thrown but nonetheless delighted that someone would think to make that distinction. Come to think of it, he doesn’t think he’s laughed since he got here; he probably hasn’t even _smiled_. It feels good. 

“Soooo, Chris,” Dustin drawls. “We’ve taken a look at your medical history—schwannoma neurofibrosarcoma—and heard what happened from all your coworkers. Your team is going to come by later to introduce themselves and fill you in on all the details.” 

He pauses and looks up at Chris, who is currently blinking rather rapidly and swallowing dryly. He doesn’t know what came over him, but he can feel all the memories rushing back: the sharp cleaning smell of hospital hallways, the sting of an IV in his arm, his mother’s face the day his hair started falling out… 

“Hey,” the nurse says softly—Dustin, he reminds himself, jerking back to the present. He places his hand lightly on Chris’ shoulder, a reassuring pressure. “You okay?”

Chris swallows dryly, nods. Dustin is looking at him with these big, understanding eyes, and Chris feels so grateful for some reason he can’t quite articulate. 

“It’s okay if you aren’t,” Dustin adds. “I mean, you will be,” he adds quietly but not without confidence. 

Chris collects himself and manages a smile, which becomes real when he looks up to see Dustin smiling tentatively back. “Thanks,” he says a bit croakily, and Dustin nods, turning back to Chris’ chart. 

Chris doesn’t know why, but for whatever reason, something about the last few minutes really helped. 

//

When Chris had been young, 4th grade, he’d had night sweats. He would wake up drenched in his own cooling sweat, sheets tangled around him from thrashing in his sleep. It was strange, disconcerting to his parents, since otherwise he seemed perfectly happy and healthy. 

That had been his only symptom for about a month, and then he’d started talking about back pain, which is just really not something any nine year old ever does. His mother had given him backrubs with creased worry lines between her brow and scheduled a doctor’s appointment. 

He had not ended up going. Instead, he’d fainted in class and was rushed to the emergency room. 

After a couple weeks of x-rays and tests, they’d finally discovered the cancer. Chris doesn’t really remember that event in his life very clearly—he doesn’t remember the actual conversation ending with that information. Mostly he just remembers afterwards, his mother crying silently during the car ride home, his father’s knuckles white, clenched tight on the steering wheel. 

He remembers endless doctor’s visits, prodding fingers down his spine and nurses bringing him all the jello he could eat, feeling disappointed knowing he _couldn’t_ eat it without throwing up. The chemo treatments themselves are kind of a blur—it’s only the hospital beds afterward that he remembers. He’d been in such a fragile state after most of the treatments that the doctors would recommend he spend the night at the hospital. For the most part, he’s glad he can’t really remember the whole thing. 

What he _does_ remember in stunning, photographic detail, was finding out that the chemo had _worked_ , the tumor was _gone_. It had felt like a miracle, like _magic._

Thinking about it makes Chris feel a little bit bitter now. 

//

A couple hours later a man in a white coat comes in, giving Chris no more than a curt nod before heading for his chart. Chris has only been here a couple of hours, but he’s already sick of this whole chart thing. He remembers hating that before, too. 

The man has curly blonde hair, startlingly blue eyes, and a blank expression. He’s a little bit on the short side, and his lips move a little as he reads the writing on Chris’ chart. Chris clears his throat to get his attention, snaps his fingers. None of it is effective. 

“ _Hello_?” he finally says, causing the man to look up. 

His eyes freeze for a second on Chris’ annoyed face. “Oh, yes, hello,” he says, finally stepping forward and offering his hand as if just remembering bedside manner was a thing. “I’m your doctor—Dr. Mark Zuckerberg,” he explains. He has a firm handshake, and now that he has (finally) met Chris’ gaze, he can see the determination behind them. 

“Nice to meet you,” Chris says. “I’m Chris Hughes.”

“Yes,” is all Dr. Zuckerberg says in response, as if he’s affirming it’s a fact, eyes already back on the chart. 

Chris resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Dr. Zuckerberg—” 

“Don’t call me that,” he cuts Chris off, pulling a face. “Dr. Zuckerberg is my father.” There is a pause. “And my mother, actually,” he adds, crinkling his nose. 

“Fine, _Mark_ ,” Chris corrects. “Um… what’s going on?”

“I’m waiting for the rest of your team,” Mark explains. He speaks fast, like his mouth is trying to keep up with his brain. “To brief you.” He finally claps the chart closed, just as another man enters. 

He is _not_ wearing a white lab coat, but instead a tailored suit. He has dark hair which is slicked back, dark eyes, and a tan. He’s taller than Mark. He pauses in the doorway, looking at Mark a little shocked. Chris turns to Mark to see that his eyes are just a tad wider. Chris guesses that means he’s surprised too. 

“Mark,” the man says, clearing his throat when his voice cracks a little. “Are you medical for this case?”

Mark rolls his eyes. “ _No_ , Wardo, I’m here as the entertainment,” he replies, voice colored with a twinge of light annoyance but also a little bit… jokingly? In a really weird way?

The man sighs wearily, snapping back to professionalism when his eyes fall on Chris. His mouth turns upward into an easy smile, stepping forward to offer his hand. “Hi, I’m Eduardo Saverin. I’ll be your counselor.” 

“Counselor?” Chris says, jerking back a little. That’s certainly not something that’s happened before. 

“We offer counseling services to all our cancer patients,” Mark explains in that same matter-of-fact tone, only this time it’s almost a little bored. 

Eduardo turns to glare at Mark momentarily before turning back to Chris, smile reappearing. It doesn’t feel disingenuous, though, and Chris decides he likes this guy. “My services are completely optional,” he adds. “I’m just here in case you want to talk to someone, help you make any decisions, things like that.”

“Okay,” Chris agrees, nodding back. 

And then, to make things even weirder, another man in a white doctor’s coat comes down the hall, laughing loudly, and makes his way into Chris’ room. “Alriiiiiight, let’s see what we got here,” he says, walking right around Chris’ bed and Eduardo to Mark’s side, grabbing the clipboard out of his hands without another word. 

Eduardo looks like his jaw is on the floor. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he exhales, and Mark looks visibly uncomfortable. 

The new guy in the lab coat also has short curly hair, only his is darker, almost brown. He smiles a little too quickly for Chris’ taste. “Oh, look here! Well, isn’t this just going to be _the most_ fun,” he says, putting one arm around Mark and jostling them together a little bit. Mark scowls, and Chris can actually hear Eduardo grinding his teeth. 

“ _Sean_ ,” Mark says warningly, glaring at him in a way that makes Chris think of the phrase _if looks could kill_. Sean ignores him, leaning forward to offer Eduardo his hand. 

“I’m Dr. Sean Parker; I’ll be your surgery consultant,” he says, with that same too-smooth voice and snake-like smile. His handshake is just this side of too-tight, and he exudes that egotistical confidence that Chris has previously associated with jet pilots and lawyers. He immediately gets a bad vibe from him. 

Eduardo looks like he’s trying to pull his hair out as he runs his fingers madly through it. “Did you set this up, Sean?” he asks, sounding unspeakably annoyed. “No way this a coincidence—”

“I know it’s your first instinct to blame me in every single scenario you can, but I had nothing to do with this,” Sean replies, an unsettling mix of slimy and condescending. He turns back to the chart, muttering under his breath, “…as if I’d actually _sign up_ to be caught between you two, _please…_ ”

Mark shakes his head from side to side, eyes squeezed shut tightly. “The important thing is, Mr. Hughes—”

“Chris,” Chris corrects, feeling a little bit overwhelmed.

“Chris—we’re going to take good care of you, I promise you don’t have anything to worry about,” he finishes, giving Chris a nod. Sean looks up, adding in a maddeningly confident grin, and Eduardo gives him a weary sigh and half-hearted smile of his own. 

“I’m not worried,” Chris replies, only it comes out with a tremor of nervousness that definitely gives him away. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Dustin says, appearing in the doorway, jaw practically on the floor. He turns to face Chris. “This is your _team?_ ” he squeaks. 

Chris nods, shooting Dustin wide and slightly-frightened eyes, and Dustin breaks down in giggles, covering his mouth with one hand. “Sorry, sorry, just—I don’t know if you’re the unluckiest man alive or if this is one of those things where it’s so crazy it just might work.” Mark and Eduardo turn to glare at him, though Sean seems more or less unfazed. 

After that, it’s awkward enough that they all make quick exits, with only Dustin staying behind. Eduardo gives Chris his card, saying, “Anytime you need to talk to someone, day or night,” and Mark informs him that if he asks any of the nurses, they can get a hold of him. Sean just leaves. 

Dustin steps forward, still smirking, reaching forward to fiddle with the machine Chris is hooked up to. 

“What was that all about?” he asks, and Dustin grins devilishly. 

“You somehow managed to get a powder keg instead of a medical team,” he responds lightly, flopping bodily in the chair next to Chris’ bed, still smiling. “There are literally no three people here with more issues with each other.”

Chris feels his brow furrow, tilting his head to the side in a silent question. Dustin heaves a deep breath. 

“Mark and Eduardo have a thing.”

There’s a pause for a second. “A thing?” Chris finally prompts. 

“Yeah. As in they’ve been dancing around each other for about a year, if sources are to be trusted. Ever since Eduardo started working here, it’s been painfully obvious from the constant _bickering_ ,” he explains, leaning back in the chair, rolling his eyes. “They’re both idiots, really.”

“And how did Sean get involved?”

“Eduardo hates Sean,” Dustin states simply. 

Chris’ eyebrows go up. “Did Mark and _Sean_ have a thing?”

Dustin busts out laughing, doubling over in his chair and shaking with the force of it. Chris blushes, but not because he’s embarrassed by the question and more because of the way Dustin looks right now, and the way it makes butterflies appear in Chris’ stomach. He was… he was not expecting that. 

But then Dustin’s wiping at his eyes and calming down, exhaling slowly. “God, oh _god_ no. I think Eduardo might actually kill him for that. Nah, Sean’s kind of Mark’s best friend. But Sean had a real bad drug problem in college and med school. Eduardo just doesn’t trust him, _or_ think it’s a good idea for him to be around so many prescription meds all the time,” he pauses. “Or young nurses, for that matter.”

Chris may or may not be gawking a little bit. Dustin turns to look at him, hesitant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “So this place is basically a real-life version of _Grey’s Anatomy_ —soapy and dramatic and you’re all constantly having sex with each other.”

Dustin’s grin wins out then, and he turns back to face the muted TV. “Trust me, it’s not. I honestly think that sex would clear up their situation—you know, relieve all this tension.” He gives an exaggerated shudder that makes Chris laugh. 

“So why haven’t they?”

He frowns a little now, sobering up. “Because… I think mainly because Eduardo scares the _shit_ out of Mark.”

Chris turns back to the TV too, thinking of the way Mark had stared down the guy outside Eduardo’s room. “I can’t imagine Mark being scared of anyone, and I’ve only met him once.”

Dustin shakes his head. “It’s like… It’s like that good kind scared when you meet someone and you really like them. Just, Mark doesn’t know it yet.”

Chris refuses to allow himself to look over at Dustin, and he refuses to let himself blush, not wanting to give anything away. “Are you playing matchmaker?” he asks, teasing slightly to lighten the mood just a little. 

Dustin turns back to him, grinning again, a clever retort ready on his lips—but then someone calls him from down the hall, and he stands up slowly, smile only slightly dampened. “Duty calls!” he says over his shoulder as he walks out. 

//

“Do you mind if I hang out in here?” Dustin asks later, rapping his fingers on the doorway to Chris’ room. 

Chris turns, smiles on instinct. He’s about to say yes but Dustin plows on, fingers of his other hand clenching uncertainly on the rolled-up top of his paper bag lunch. 

“Just, I’ve only been working here for like 3 months and I don’t really like the clique in the break room,” he says, pulling a face that makes Chris’ smile widen. 

“Of course,” Chris says, hands waving to welcome him in. Dustin lips turn upward as he pulls up a chair next to Chris and leans back, resting his feet on the edge of the bed. Chris bites back on a smile which, thankfully, Dustin doesn’t catch. 

Dustin pulls a sandwich out, taking it out of the ziplock and casting his eyes up at the TV as he takes a bite.  
“What are we watching?” he asks, still with food in his mouth. Chris should not find this as endearing as he is. 

“I… have no idea,” he replies truthfully, and Dustin laughs. It is a good sound. 

//

Things continue like that for a few days, Dustin dropping in whenever he has a break to talk and hang out, while Chris is wheeled in and out of rooms for endless testing (it’s fairly rare for this type of cancer to come back, and that worries everyone). They watch whatever inane program is on TV and talk—talk _constantly_ , about just whatever comes to mind. 

And the thing is, as strange as it feels to admit, Dustin consistently makes Chris’ days better. He’s one of the very few things that’s making Palo Alto feel like _home_. Only this isn’t home. This is the hospital, and Chris knows that he’ll have to leave eventually. 

But he doesn’t necessarily want to. He wants them to find out what exactly is happening to him, of course, and he wants to get better. Just, this is the first time this city has felt like home, and leaving means facing that strange unknown _reality_ all over again, and that’s _scary_. 

He tries not to think about it too much. 

//

It is a little weird though, because despite his claim, Dustin does seem to have friends. People will see him in Chris’ room and pop their heads in to say hi, and Dustin will greet them with his characteristic enthusiasm. He’ll introduce them to Chris and they’ll shake his hand, Chris will smile and so will they, but he can always see that little bit of a question lingering in their eyes. _Why is he hanging out with a patient?_

He doesn’t know if Dustin doesn’t catch it or if it truly doesn’t bother him that much, but Chris does wonder. Dustin obviously has friends, so why is he _here_?

Not that Chris is complaining. 

Like, _at all_. __

__//

Sometimes when Dustin whines about being bored (and won’t listen to Chris’ suggestions to _get back to work, seriously, how can they even afford to pay you when you spend all your time in my room_ ), they end up playing a little question and answer game between the two of them. It had started off as Dustin’s idea of an icebreaker, but now has just evolved into something they do. 

“If you could punch anyone in the face, who would it be?” Dustin asks. 

(His questions are always a little more out-there than Chris’.)

It startles a laugh out of Chris, and the answer trips off his tongue before he can quite stop it. “Brendon Michaelson.”

“Ooh,” Dustin says, moving to sit cross-legged in his chair to face Chris full-on. “That came fast. _Spill_. Who was he?”

Chris sighs, and Dustin’s face immediately falls out of its curious, excited expression. “My ex-boyfriend.” Dustin frowns deeply, brow furrowing a little. Chris can’t look at him. 

“It was fine, most of the time, but we had a kind of ugly break-up,” he explains, trying to keep his tone light so Dustin will stop looking like… there’s not a completely accurate way to describe it, but Chris’ instinct is to go with a kicked puppy dog metaphor. He rolls his eyes affectionately. “Seriously Dustin, it’s no big deal.”

“Obviously it is if you want to punch him in the face,” Dustin retorts angrily, crossing his arms. “What did he say to you?” he asks, tone a little softer. 

Chris shrugs. “That I’m a workaholic, that I was distracted, that no one was ever going to really love me because no matter how much they give I don’t have the time or energy to love them back.”

Dustin’s jaw drops wide—it would be funny if his eyes didn’t look so hurt on Chris’ behalf. “ _Chris_ ,” he says, sounding a little bit broken, but Chris shakes his head. 

“The last one was a little hard to hear and maybe unfair—” Dustin squawks, as if to say _duh_ , “—but other than that, he didn’t say anything that wasn’t _true_.”

There is silence for a moment. Chris can’t bear to look at Dustin, doesn’t want to see the disappointment there. Everything is still, and then something in the air around them shifts when Dustin’s pager goes off. They both exhale at once; Chris thinks maybe they’re both relieved. 

“Sorry man, I’ve gotta go,” Dustin says, more or less jumping out of his chair. 

Chris just nods. He can’t find it in him to speak again. 

He spends the rest of the day in an infuriating spiral with the voice in his head… _why did you say that why did you do that what were you thinking_. He clenches his fists at his sides and tightens his jaw, laying back in the hospital bed and squeezing his eyes shut. 

//

Despite Chris’ original skepticism about having a counselor, Eduardo is really helpful. They can talk about everything, and it just feels really refreshing to be able to do that again, for the first time in a long time. 

More often than not, they end up just talking about whatever comes up and nothing really specifically related to Chris’ condition. But that’s okay, because it’s relaxing, and Chris doesn’t have to worry about it. 

He’s just finished a story about something funny Dustin did earlier when Eduardo shoots him a quizzical look. 

“What?” Chris asks. 

Eduardo looks down, shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s just… You sure talk about Dustin an awful lot,” he says. The statement is completely judgment-free, but something about it makes Chris feel squirmy and defensive. He tries not to show it and shrugs lightly. 

“No reason. Just… he’s a friend. We spend a lot of time together.” His façade seems to be failing, judging by the look on Eduardo’s face. 

“That’s good,” Eduardo says, nodding. But something on his face seems to say that this isn’t over, he’s still watching closely. “That’s good, that you have a friend.”

Chris clears his throat. “Yeah, he’s—yeah. Dustin’s a good friend,” he finishes, stumbling over the words. It makes him blush; he feels like he’s giving something away that he didn’t mean to, because he can’t even admit it to _himself_ yet. 

When he looks up again, Eduardo has a small, knowing smile that Chris is sure he doesn’t like. “He is that,” Eduardo murmurs, and Chris lets his own smile break out fully as he looks away. He can hear Eduardo’s gentle laugh beside him. 

//

Chris is in the hospital for about a week before the entire team comes in to “talk about his options”. 

(The phrase alone sounds absolutely terrifying. All Chris can think of are those scenes in TV shows and movies… “ _We’re all out of options”_ and “ _we’ll make sure you’re as comfortable as possible_.”)  
His family isn’t there. They’d offered to come when he’d initially been admitted to the hospital, but Chris had said it wasn’t necessary. It could be nothing, after all. _Well_ , not nothing—cancer is never nothing—but it could just mean another couple rounds of chemo and then good to go, and he can do that more or less himself. 

Now, though, as Mark and Sean and Eduardo file into his room, he kind of wishes they had flown in anyway. They’re just making small talk now, waiting for Dustin. But still, the prospect is scary, facing this all alone. Mark grabs the chart attached to the end of his bed and squints at it, face blank. Chris wonders abstractly whether that’s just part of his natural personality or something that he’s cultivated in order to not “give anything away” to his patients. 

Just then, Dustin clambers through the door, chest heaving like he ran to make it in time. “I’m here, I’m here,” he pants, grabbing the chair from the corner of the room and pulling it up beside Chris’ bed instead of standing on the other side with Eduardo, Sean, and Mark. He sends Chris a reassuring smile, and Chris can’t help but laugh a little, still thinking of his dramatic entrance. 

It feels good. To have someone on his side. 

(Even better that it’s Dustin.)

“Well,” Mark says, passing the chart over to Sean, who fumbles with it a little. “Chris, I’m sorry to say that the tumor appears to be back in full force. I’m not confident that the treatment regimen previously implemented from its last appearance would be effective this time.”

Chris sighs, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “Mark, _in plain English_ , what does that mean for me?”

“Chemo won’t work, surgery’s the best way to go,” Sean answers instead, flipping the chart closed with a too-wide smile. Mark turns, shooting him a narrowed-eyed glare. 

“Chemo is still an _option_ if Chris wants to go that route, it just wouldn’t be my professional recommendation,” Mark clarifies, tense. 

Dustin lets out a frustrated sigh. “Calm down, Marky-Mark, just because you’re referring him to Sean doesn’t mean the medicine side has failed,” waving off the discussion. Mark turns his glare on Dustin, and Chris feels pretty certain it’s because of the nickname. 

“We’ll give you some time to think about your options,” Eduardo says, cutting in easily, voice soft and soothing. “You do have _options_ , Chris,” he stresses. 

“Is the surgery high-risk?” Dustin asks, for which Chris is grateful. He still feels a little too floored to open his mouth—he’s not quite sure what would come out. 

Mark winces. “Any time we’re dealing with the spine, the surgery is risky. One of the more worrying possibilities is that it could leave you paralyzed.”

“Is that worst case scenario?” Chris asks. 

No one says anything. He has his answer. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he whispers, running a hand roughly over his face. 

“It’s still your best option,” Sean cuts in, voice still light and right now the sound of it makes Chris want to claw off his own skin. “There are much more invasive and dangerous surgeries out there. Besides, you’re in good hands with me—”

“ _Sean_ ,” Eduardo hisses, voice biting, leaning forward to shoot Sean a death glare, nodding in Chris’ direction. Chris currently has his face in his hands. Sean promptly shuts up, still with a small, slimy smiling but knuckles tightening on Chris’ chart that give away his annoyance. 

“We should let you go,” Eduardo decides. “Give you some time.” He makes his way to the door and waits by its side, waiting for the others to pass through first. 

Sean exists first. Mark pauses at the doorway. “I’ll be back later to check on you, in case you have more medical questions,” he adds, voice surprisingly soft. Chris nods, head still in his hands, and Mark heads out. 

Eduardo leaves last. “I’ll be back later for our session,” Eduardo murmurs, and Chris sniffles, lifting his head and giving Eduardo a tight smile. Eduardo shoots him a sympathetic look and heads out. 

Dustin rises from his chair slowly, quietly. He’s moving across the room, towards the door, but before he can go too far Chris catches him by the wrist. “Dustin, if you’re not—I mean, would you mind if… Can you just _stay_? Just for a little bit?” he finally manages, looking up at him with what he knows are pleading eyes. At this moment, he doesn’t even care. He just wants someone _here_. 

Dustin swallows, casting his eyes down to Chris’ fingers on his wrist before flicking them back up to meet Chris’ eyes. “Yeah,” he murmurs, standing very still. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He makes his way back around to the chair, sitting back down very carefully as Chris lets himself fall back against the pillows, breathing slow and deep. 

Chris doesn’t know how long they stay like that. He drifts off to sleep. 

//

His next session with Eduardo is what leads him to making his decision. 

The great thing about talking to Eduardo is that it’s easy. Even easier than Dustin, in a way, because Chris doesn’t have to police his thoughts about what he can and can’t say. Eduardo just kind of _gets_ him in a really reassuring way that Chris appreciates. 

“What’s your thought process on the whole thing?” Eduardo asks during a comfortable lull in the conversation, a little bit tentative, as if he doesn’t want to push too far. 

Chris sighs. “I don’t know,” he admits. Eduardo nods understandingly, glancing up just a little as Mark comes in, face buried between papers, heading to the end of the bed for Chris' chart and scrutinizing it. “I want… I _want_ to be _better_ , of course I do. But what if I end up—up paralyzed or _dead_?” He hears the tremor in his own voice and tries to ignore it, looking down and refusing to look at Eduardo, seeing out of the corner of his eye when Mark moves to fiddle with the monitor. Chris takes a shaky breath and then continues. “I don’t want to be a burden to anyone.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Mark spits out, making Chris and Eduardo jump. He spins around to face both of them, pointing a finger in Chris’ direction. “That’s utter fucking _bullshit_ , Hughes. Think about the people you love. You think they would feel _burdened_ if you ended up paralyzed? Of course not. They’re just gonna be happy you’re alive. And you know what, if you don’t do the surgery? You’re not _going_ to be alive.” His mouth sets in a harsh line, eyes blazing. 

Eduardo clears his throat. Chris turns to him, sees Eduardo’s eyes burning in the very same way. He and Mark are staring intensely at each other. Chris feels vaguely uncomfortable. 

“Mark, could I see you outside for a moment?” Eduardo bites out, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides. Mark gives a jerky nod and they walk outside. Eduardo closes the door behind them. 

Chris kind of enjoys watching them argue, honestly. Well, and listening—the glass doors are certainly not soundproof. But he ignores that mostly in favor of just watching… Eduardo’s gesturing frustratingly at Mark, Mark’s rolling his eyes, and Eduardo’s all flushed and… god, Dustin is so right about these two. 

Mark stalks off and Eduardo cards his fingers through his hair, sending it in about thirteen different directions, exhaling on a whooshing breath. He composes himself for a minute before heading back in. 

“Sorry about that, Chris,” he says, sitting back down in the chair. “Now, where were we?”

Chris hides his smile behind his hand, thinking about what Mark said, the way the two of them had yelled at each other, thinks of the phrase “people you love” (thinks of Dustin, doesn’t want to admit it). “Actually, I think I’ve made up my mind.”

//

After Eduardo, Dustin is the first person he tells about his decision. But of course, first he tells him about the incident. 

“Seriously, how did that _not_ end with them making out?” he sighs, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “I swear to god, the sexual tension is going to kill them both. I need to step up my matchmaking game.”

Chris laughs. “Seriously, _what_ have you _done_ as their matchmaker? Honestly.”

Dustin shrugs and grins, turning to look at Chris. “Teased them about their feelings for each other and occasionally pushed them into situations where I knew they’d be around each other.”  
Chris can feel his eyes widen and his brows jump up. “Are _you_ the one who put this team together?” he asks. 

Dustin bursts out laughing. “ _No_ , but I’d certainly like to shake the hand of whoever did. They’re my inspiration,” he says, pretending to wipe his eyes. “Nah, the most I’ve done in that arena was to get Mark really drunk and then kind of thrust him in Eduardo’s direction at the Christmas party. Or go to the break room with Eduardo when I know Mark will be there. And, like I said, constant teasing.” He sighs again. “I just want them to work out their _issues_ , for everyone’s benefit.”

Chris laughs lightly, picking at the hospital blanket covering his legs in the silence. “Hey, um. I made my decision about the whole surgery thing,” he says, feeling inexplicably nervous. 

The reaction is immediate—Dustin sits up, curling his fingers tight around the cushion of the chair, body stiffening, breaking eye contact. “Oh,” he says softly, and suddenly the air feels tense, the kind of tense that has nothing to do with the silence. It takes Chris a minute to realize that Dustin’s _trembling_ a little, and… Chris’ brain doesn’t know what to _do_ with that, how to interpret it. “Well?” Dustin asks, voice cracking a little. 

All of a sudden Chris is _blushing_ , and he clears his throat and wipes a hand over his face. “I decided to do it,” he says in a rush, getting the words out as fast as possible before he chickens out. 

When he finally looks up, clear and happy relief is the only emotion evident on Dustin’s face. He’s grinning so hard his face may split and his eyes are bright. _He looks beautiful_ , Chris thinks to himself, blushing even harder at the thought but can’t bring himself to care when Dustin’s looking at him like that. 

“That’s… that’s good,” Dustin gets out, voice full of emotion. They grin giddily at each other for a long moment before there’s a clatter in the hallway, causing them both to jump. It breaks the electricity of it, and they both laugh nervously, looking away. 

“They’re sending me home for a week, beforehand,” Chris continues when he looks back up. His voice is more timid this time and he can _feel_ it, hates that he’s this nervous. _He’s not supposed to be this nervous_. 

“Oh,” Dustin says again, face falling just for a second before he recovers, busying himself and pulling his legs up underneath him. “That’s awesome, man,” he continues, with none of the sincerity of before, nodding as he smiles. Both the smile and the happiness in his voice, both feel forced, but Chris can’t tell if they’re actually that way or if he’s just misinterpreting it because he wants to delude himself into thinking it’s not just him. 

“Yeah,” Chris agrees, turning away. There’s no excitement in his voice. He can’t even muster up any fake feeling to go behind it—it’s just easier to let it be hollow. 

//

On the day Chris leaves, Mark checks in to make sure that everything’s okay medically, and Eduardo comes for a session in which they talk everything through: going back home, the surgery, telling his family, all of it. 

Dustin doesn’t stop in to say goodbye. 

Chris can’t decide if it’s better that way or not. 

//

So Chris is allowed to go home for a week, but then he’ll have to come back for a couple nights before the surgery to make sure everything is going according to plan. 

Being home and back to work is weird. All his colleagues sort of tiptoe around him in a way that, no matter how good their intentions, is _infuriating._ He really doesn’t need to be treated like a delicate fading flower, and he throws himself into his work twice as hard to prove it. 

He calls his parents, and of course they cry and insist on flying out for the surgery. He tells them he can handle it, but not-so-secretly he’s really glad they’re coming. Palo Alto feels lonely, and he knows that’s not fair… he hasn’t really gotten a chance to make it feel differently. The place that feels most at home is the Palo Alto hospital, which is fucked up, but true. 

Pathetically, he spends so much more time missing Dustin than he wanted to. 

//

It’s almost a relief to be back, honestly. Eduardo stops in to say hi, Mark gives him the customary once over, grunt, and nod while he reviews Chris’ chart (which makes Chris smile because he’s seen him with Eduardo, okay, he knows underneath Mark’s cool exterior there is a whole wealth of hidden emotion). Sean does not come by, and Chris is not surprised. 

Dustin comes barreling in last, wailing “OH MY GOD, IT WAS SO BORING WITHOUT YOU!”, throwing himself against Chris’ chest for a tight hug. Chris is startled into laughter as Dustin squeezes him, feels the insistent, quick _thumpthumpthump_ of Dustin’s heartbeat and hopes it means what he’d like it to, knows that it probably doesn’t. (There could be a million explanations—Dustin’s natural hyperactivity, caffeine, the fact that he just practically _sprinted_ down the hallway… Chris can’t take chances, can’t delude himself into thinking something that isn’t true.)

They untangle their limbs and Dustin pulls back. They smile at each other from up close; Chris can feel his cheeks tinting high with pink, and Dustin steps away to pull up the chair by his bed and sit down. 

Just like that, everything falls right back into place. 

//

Mark is in to check up on Chris the next day when Dustin says, “You know what the annoying thing about webMD is?”

Mark turns away from the monitor to look at Dustin slowly. “Everything. _Everything_ about that website is annoying Dustin, and it should be illegal. Turning the entire world into hypochondriacs.” He scoffs. “You are a _medical professional_ , why are you even on that godforsaken website?” 

Dustin flaps his hand impatiently at Mark, gaze still switching back and forth between his smartphone and the TV. “Hush, Chris bet me I couldn’t diagnose this girl before Dr. Oz and I’m about to prove him wrong.” Chris laughs. 

“He’s cheating, clearly, by using webMD.”

“ _You did not expressly disallow it, therefore it is not cheating_!” Dustin exclaims for the thousandth time, pointing his finger up in the air as Chris rolls his eyes with a fond smile. On the screen, the patient is crying as Dr. Oz pats her on the back. 

Chris turns to see Mark looking between them narrow-eyed, almost… shrewdly? Like he’s picking up on something. He raises his eyebrows at Chris, a silent question that makes Chris blush a little. He shrugs, hopefully with an air of “ _I don’t know what you mean_ ” which he’s sure he misses by a mile. Mark doesn’t buy it, rolling his eyes. 

The patient on screen lists her symptoms one more time and Mark spares a quick glance at the TV before turning back to the monitor. “Waldenström's macroglobulinemia,” he says matter-of-factly, making a note on Chris’ chart. 

Dustin flails in his chair, almost dropping his phone on the ground as Dr. Oz arrives at the exact same conclusion. “Fuck you, Mark, I was just about to say that!”

“Well, why didn’t you then?”

“I was waiting for the most climatic moment! How am I supposed to show off for Chris now?” he pouts overdramatically. 

Mark looks at Chris again, giving him a carefully blank look for a long moment before rolling his eyes and sighing heavily. “I have to get out of here; all the feelings are killing me,” he mutters as he turns, making his way toward the door. Chris flushes fire-engine red. 

“You’re insane. And a cheater. _Feelings,_ ha! _I have seen you with Eduardo, Marky-Mark!_ ” Dustin calls after him, laughing as Mark flips him off without even turning around. 

//

As soon as he begins his session with Eduardo, they talk about the surgery and all the possibilities that come along with it.

He feels fine about it, honestly. He’d mentally worked it through a lot during his week back at home, and he almost has this sense of relief that it’s finally _happening_ and he’s not in limbo waiting for it anymore. It’s going to end up one way or another. 

But on the night before the surgery, after visiting hours have ended and Chris is alone in his hospital bed, TV turned on for a distraction, volume low, he wonders how much of that was just a façade. Maybe it’s just last minute jitters but he’s _shaking_ , thinking about tomorrow, and no matter how much he tries to ignore it he _can’t_. It’s horrible. 

As if on cue, Dustin knocks on the doorframe. He’s wearing his scrubs even though Chris _knows_ for a fact that he’s off-shift, and he thinks wildly that maybe he’s not the only one who’s wearing a mask tonight. “Hey,” he says, sounding hesitant. “Do you mind if I hang out here for a while?”

Chris feels like he could be knocked backwards and wants to laugh with just how much déjà vu this is, but he’s so grateful he can’t even speak. He just nods, Dustin smiles, and takes a seat. 

It doesn’t take long for all his worries to come pouring out. 

//

“There’s still so much I want to do,” Chris exhales after a couple hours of conversation, fiddling with his hospital bracelet around his wrist. “It can’t be… This can’t be _it_.” 

Tomorrow morning is the surgery and it has him trembling with nervousness. He doesn’t feel weepy or regretful. Just _frustrated_. This isn’t fair. 

And Chris had thought he’d reached acceptance, you know? He already went through denial and anger and all of that, but now here he is again, _angry_. He shouldn’t feel this way. 

Dustin is seated in the chair beside him, angled towards the television up in the corner, showing some syndicated sitcom, though he’s not watching and they both know it. He’s reclined, feet stretched out and hands above his head, all false nonchalance. Chris isn’t fooled; it’s after his shift has ended, so Dustin is here by choice. He still hasn’t changed out of his scrubs though, like he’s putting up a front, and so Chris doesn’t mention it. 

Somehow Dustin can sense his feelings, though. He’s always had the innate ability to do so, right from the beginning. Chris doesn’t quite understand why, but he’s grateful. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, soft in a way he isn’t normally. “If there was ever a time to be angry…” He shrugs, cutting himself off and looking away, but Chris nods in agreement. 

“Besides, the surgery’s gonna go great tomorrow,” he repeats in a tone much more normal, but Chris can’t tell who he’s saying it for, who he’s trying to reassure. 

They sit in companionable silence for a couple more minutes before Dustin clears his throat. He draws himself up, crossing his legs underneath him, suddenly jittery. “Um, just out of curiousity,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck and not meeting Chris’ eyes. “What would you, um. Do?

Chris doesn't say anything for a minute. It's an easy enough question, and he knows his answer, but...

He looks at Dustin, really _looks_ at him. He looks at his gentle hands, long fingers, his lips, thinks of the way they are so often angled into a smile, and then finally his scrubs, his job, and what it means.

The thing is, Dustin isn't just a good nurse. He's a great one. The kind that will stay up talking with you on what could be your last night, the kind who will hold your hand when you get the worst possible news, and then make you smile and laugh and cheer you up afterwards. Because that's just the kind of person he is, at his core—he cares about his patients.

And, that's what Chris is. He is a patient. Dustin's had many before him and there are many more to come, and Chris isn't _special_. Not to mention the fact that he's too serious, and ambitious, and focused, and he's never been good at taking time to stop and smell the flowers, or even just doing things for himself. He's also busy and a distracted boyfriend at best, and why would Dustin ever want _him_?

"I don't know," he finally lies, little more than a whisper.

Dustin's face doesn't fall, it's nothing as dramatic as that, but there is a _moment_ where Chris sees it twitch before he schools it back into a neutral expression, and he feels like _something._ He doesn't quite know what. It could mean a lot of things, right?

"Yeah," Dustin agrees, looking down at his lap, somber again, and Chris _hates_ himself for doing that to him, making his voice crack a little and his lips turn down into a contemplative frown. He wants to fix it, but he still can't bring himself to say what he’s thinking.

He slides his hands across the blanket covering him, stopping when they reach the edge of the bed. He lets his pinky dangle over the edge, can see it shaking a little, but doesn't move it away, as much as he wants to.

Dustin doesn't look up, but he must be able to see it out of the corner of his eye, because a small smile breaks through on his face, even as he continues to look down. He reaches up and places his hand next to Chris', so that just their pinkies are overlapping. Neither of them says anything, but maybe it's enough.

Chris falls asleep like that, a smile sliding onto his face slowly at Dustin's touch.

//

The morning is hectic. Mark is there, telling everyone what to do in a voice that clearly broadcasts that he doesn’t have time for their shit. Sean is also there, flirting with nurses who are helping out all while prepping Chris (which makes Chris hope that everyone in the operating room is male so that Sean won’t be distracted by trying to get someone’s number). Eduardo is off to the side, talking quietly with Chris’ parents, with whom he has already exchanged hugs and reassurances. His mother is tearful, fingers pressed to her lips, and his father’s hands are trembling, even though his jaw and eyes are set. 

Dustin is standing in the corner, wringing his hands and looking lost. Chris wishes there was something he could _do_ , but he’s a little busy being prodded and asked how he feels by a million different people to say much. 

Mark, who Chris should probably appreciate more, follows his gaze. His eyes land on Dustin and his face _softens_ in a way Chris has never seen, like he just _gets it_ somehow. 

“Dustin,” he says, gaze returning to normal and looking away as Dustin’s head perks up. “Get over here, I need a hand.”

Chris shoots Mark a thankful look, which Mark returns with an eye roll. “You’re not fooling anyone,” Chris remarks, with the first smile he’s felt all day, and Mark waves him off. 

From there on out it goes fast. He’s wheeled back to the operating room, watching Mark pull on a face mask and Dustin stand at attention by a table full of medical instruments, watches Sean snap on gloves as he laughs at someone’s joke. Then, a voice is asking him to count backwards from ten, and the world goes dark. 

//

When Chris wakes up, he feels hazy, like there’s a fog clouding his vision. People visit him but their voices sound distant when they talk, their faces little more than an indistinct, unfocused blob of color. Every breath seems to rattle in his chest and aches on the inhale, and they hook him up to a ventilator to help with the breathing problems. The worst part is that the symptoms don’t seem to go away at all. 

In fact, the only thing that really changes is that every bone in his body starts to ache heavily. He’s sore all over so he tries not to move very much. He also feels extremely tired. He can’t keep his eyes open for more than an hour without them suddenly drooping again. So he spends most of the day sleeping. 

But even with all this, he’s still perceptive. He can still pick up on the worried, hushed tones of his parents and the medical staff—whispered conversations and questions like if they speak too loud, the universe will kill Chris before they all get a chance to fix him. 

The most memorable of these is one night, long after visiting hours have ended, when Chris wakes up at about one in the morning, eyes blinking open to focus with difficulty on Sean, Dustin, Mark and Eduardo standing in the hall. Sean’s standing on one side and all the others are facing him. Chris squints in concentration, willing his eyes not to slide shut. 

The door is open just a tad, not enough that Chris can hear clearly anything they’re saying, unfortunately. But the body language is very telling—Sean is leaning back a little, shaking his head and looking defensive, almost _scared_. Mark speaks first, demeanor giving off calm but carefully measured, like someone trying to explain a concept to a child for the thousandth time and they _still don’t get it_. Then Eduardo interrupts him, with a little more fire in his eyes. The words aren’t so much coming out of his mouth as opposed to being _spat_ out, and he’s shaking almost imperceptibly. 

Though of course, what matters most to Chris is how _Dustin is reacting_. He doesn’t know if it’s the disease or the sight that causes the pain in his gut when he sees Dustin. 

Dustin is standing very still, eyes fixed on the ground like he can’t let himself look up. His hands are shoved in his pockets and his lips are set in a tight line. There are dark circles under his eyes, which he rubs at occasionally. 

Then Sean starts talking, looking frantic, eyes wide and gestures nervous. The other three stand in silence for a moment before Dustin seemingly _explodes_ —looking up at Sean with a sharp look in his eye, cheeks flushed, yelling loud enough that Chris can hear every word he says. 

“For _fuck’s sake,_ Sean—he’s _your_ half-dead, possibly soon to be _all-dead_ patient! Man up and _do_ something instead of being scared and making excuses!”

They all freeze there for a moment, like they’re shell-shocked at Dustin’s reaction, and before they get a chance to respond, Dustin is shaking his head at Sean in disgust, turning and walking away, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. 

Chris squeezes his eyes shut voluntarily for the first time in a while. If that’s what he’s going to see, maybe darkness has some advantages after all. 

//

The next thing he remembers is being wheeled down a hallway. He spins into consciousness, trying to sit up, but he can’t quite get there, feeling too weak. 

“God, Chris, you’re awake,” someone breathes, and Chris turns in that direction to see Dustin look down at him. He’s worrying at his lip with big, concerned eyes, and all of a sudden Chris _has_ to say it, has to get out what he couldn’t before. He got a second chance and those don’t grow on trees—he has to take advantage of this. 

“Dustin,” he tries to say, but it comes out more like a whimper, words not at all discernible. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and he chokes, coughs, sputters, making his eyes water. 

“Don’t,” Dustin says, wincing. “Just, you have to rest,” he finishes, voice shaking a little. Chris swallows, closes his eyes for a moment. 

When he opens them, he casts his eyes around, taking in the scene. Mark’s leading their charge in front, and he looks back just in time to look at Chris. His lips are pressed in a thin line and he shoots Chris a tightly controlled nod, and Chris thinks _game face_. Sean is bringing up the rear, eyes scanning the chart, lips moving slightly as he reads. All the color seems to have drained from his face. 

And then of course, there’s Dustin by his side, reliable, loyal, _there_ , looking at him with such plain affection that it makes Chris’ heart hurt, a little. 

“Mark managed to get me in the OR for the surgery,” Dustin continues with a strained smile on his face. “Let’s hope I’m your lucky charm.” 

Just like that, there’s a squeeze to Chris’ fingers and he looks down and _oh_ , that’s where the pressure has been coming from. Dustin’s been holding his hand this whole time. 

Chris manages a smile, and before his eyes he sees Dustin’s desperate attempt at one become _real_ , genuine, and with that he can breathe. 

When he closes his eyes this time, he doesn’t feel nearly as anxious. 

//

When he wakes up, everything is kind of blurry. There's noise that sounds like it's coming from far away, echoing around but not making any sense. He opens his eyes fully, and after a moment he can _focus_ , and he knows that this is already a million times better than before. And there is Mark, standing in front of his bed with that clipboard in hand.

"Mr. Hughes," he says, not even trying to hide his smile. "Your surgery went well, there were no unanticipated problems. You'll have to stay here another day or two so we can make sure nothing comes up, but we're anticipating you'll make a full recovery."

Chris feels himself grin. "That's the most modest and professional I've ever seen you," he says, voice coming out croakily.

Mark laughs, face lighting up in a way that’s rare for him. "Those are just the standard lines they give us for when patients wake up. If I do say so myself, it was a fucking success. And, we did a _great_ job."  
The words make him want to laugh, and he tries to, but his throat is dry and it hurts and it turns into a cough halfway through. Mark pats the blanket awkwardly where Chris' foot is. "Don't over-exert yourself, you still won't be 100% for a while. You need to rest."

And just like that, Chris feels incredibly sleepy, as if now that he knows he's going to be okay it's hitting him just how tired he is. He nods, lets his eyes slide shut, and breathes.

//

When he next wakes up, his mother and father are there, misty-eyed and happy, fawning all over him and making sure he's warm enough and asking him how he's feeling and it's all very exhausting. He knows they were worried from before, and he appreciates it all, but still. His energy levels aren’t back to normal yet, let _alone_ the optimum energy levels he reserves for dealing with his family. 

Then Eduardo is there when Chris is awake a couple hours later, smiling sunnily at him, clearly happy to see him. His visit is much calmer; he doesn’t force Chris into talking about anything and doesn’t take offense when Chris’ eyes droop every once in a while. He clearly has much more experience dealing with post-surgery patients than his parents do. 

But Chris still feels a little guilty, each time, for the way he looks around the room each time he wakes up, expecting that mop of red hair to be around somewhere. And then he feels disappointed all over again for the way his heart inevitably falls when it's not. He even asks where Dustin is—the first time without meaning to, he's still very out of it and didn't remember that his parents never met Dustin, at least, not properly. To them, he is probably just another nurse who comes in, does their job, and leaves. He immediately recalls this when his mother cocks her head to the side and says, "Who's Dustin, sweetie?" He doesn't get the chance to answer her before he's asleep again.

When he asks Eduardo it's actually on purpose. Eduardo frowns at him and his brow furrows together. "He hasn't been in to see you yet?" he asks, and Chris shakes his head. Eduardo _hmm_ s thoughtfully, and then they somehow change the subject.

And, in all honesty, Chris would understand if Dustin didn't want to see him again. He's better now, or at least, no longer dying, and he's sure Dustin has plenty of other patients to take care of. It's just that he had _hoped_. He hates himself for that, just a little bit. 

He’s almost managed to resign himself to it when he wakes up next. He doesn’t allow his heart to jump into his throat as he looks around the room, but then— _there_. 

Dustin has scooted the chair as close to Chris’ bed as it will go and is curled up there like a cat, his head resting on his arms with his jacket bunched up between them to serve as a pillow. His face is slack with sleep, and he’s still in his scrubs, even though it’s dark out now and Chris is pretty sure he said he didn’t have the night shift today. Which means he’s here because. _Because_. 

Chris wants to laugh, he wants to cry, but it doesn’t feel painful anymore, he feels so damn _happy_. The feeling swells at his chest and he wipes at his eyes a little, and lies there smiling at Dustin’s sleeping form until he himself follows suit. 

//

It's morning when he wakes up again, and Chris holds his breath wondering if Dustin stayed the whole night while he gathers his courage to open his eyes and look.

He feels a thrill when he turns his head to see that Dustin is there, and a small smile fights his way onto his face as he reaches over and sets his hand lightly on Dustin's knee.

Dustin jolts awake, looking disoriented and confused until he sees Chris and something must click into place, a sudden clarity reaching them. And then he starts babbling.

"Oh my god, Chris, I meant to come by earlier, I swear, but I couldn’t ditch any of my patients and it was a busy day and—but I made Eduardo tell me right away, when they knew about, about you, and the surgery, and oh god, Chris—”

And that's the moment when Chris, still grinning, reaches for Dustin's shirt and pulls him down, tilting his head up to kiss him.

It's just a soft press of lips, but he can feel Dustin gasp for a moment before he settles into it, sighing a little and kissing back. He shifts closer, cupping Chris' face with both hands and smiling into it. This makes Chris hiccup out a laugh between them—Dustin smiles all the time, he doesn't know why he expected it to stop mid-kiss.

They pull back eventually, and Dustin looks dazed but happy, a little pink-cheeked and hair rumpled, now from the combination of sleep and Chris's fingers, which he tries not to feel too thrilled about.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Chris cuts him off before he can. " _That_ ," he says emphatically. "That's what I'd do if I had more time."

Dustin blushes further and sputters at him a little, before muttering, "You could have done that then, you idiot… I thought you were supposed to be the smart one." He pulls Chris into a hug as he says it, and Chris can't quite stifle his laugh into Dustin's shoulder.

"I am," he protests. "I wanted to be sure you liked me the same way I liked you. And, you know..." he explains so very eloquently, gesturing at the machine he's hooked up to.

Dustin rolls his eyes pointedly as he pulls back. "First off, that—" he repeats, waving an arm at the medical equipment in a similar fashion, "—is basically my life; it is in no way a deterrent. Secondly, why wouldn't I _like_ you?"

Chris laughs humorlessly, despising himself for reacting this way but unable to help it. He looks at his hands as he speaks, the words coming out bitter and reminding him far too much of Brendon. "I don't know, how about because I'm too serious and I'm a workaholic and—"

"Chris," Dustin says, so softly it startles him. He's looking at Chris like he's genuinely saddened by the fact that Chris is thinking this way, and reaches forward to tangle their fingers together. "I think you're amazing."

He sounds so earnest that Chris kind of wants to cry a little, and if he gets misty well fuck it, he'll forgive himself just his once.

//

Dustin is the one to explain what happened. Chris doesn’t concern himself too much with the details, just basically knows that there were unforeseen complications and that Sean had two options: either deal with it right then or stop what he was doing and give it a day, reevaluate and come up with a plan. Apparently they were both risky options, but most people in the OR were rooting for the first, but Sean picked the second. 

After that Chris deteriorated fast: the complications being exposed just made the whole process speed up, but Sean was still worried about what to do. Mark, Eduardo, and Dustin confronted him, pushing him into emergency surgery, which went flawlessly, despite Sean’s nerves. 

“It was the _wrong choice_ ,” Dustin says, face flushed with feeling, gripping Chris’ hand so tightly that it hurts a little. “He should have _known_ —you could have _died_ —”

“Hey,” Chris cuts him off, voice soft, giving Dustin’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t. It’s okay.”

Dustin nods as if he’s composing himself, exhaling deeply and laying his head on Chris’ lap. “I’m here,” Chris murmurs, running his fingers gently through Dustin’s hair. Dustin nods against his legs and Chris tries to breathe. 

//

The day Chris leaves, lots of people come in to say goodbye… nurses and staff and other people he’s gotten to know even a little over the course of this _long_ ordeal. 

Mark comes in to shake his hand and wish him luck, Sean ducks in quickly, nervous and twitchy when he sees a glaring, angry Dustin and Chris’ parents (Chris can almost see the metaphorical tail between his legs) to apologize, even though Chris waves it off. “You pulled it out in the end, man,” Chris assures him. “That’s what matters to me.” Sean gives him a grateful smile and walks out a little more confidently. 

(“And I’ll be around to make sure it never happens again,” Dustin growls.)

Eduardo is the last to say goodbye. It happens to be while Dustin is working, so he stays longer than all the others, introducing himself to Chris’ parents and chatting politely with them for a while. Finally he gets around to saying goodbye to Chris, reminding him to use his card anytime. 

“Thanks, Eduardo,” Chris replies. “You’re a great friend.”

Eduardo goes red but smiles wide. “Thanks man,” he replies, ducking his head and clapping Chris on the shoulder. “You too.”

He starts to head out, but before he can reach the door Chris calls, “Hey, Eduardo!”, making him spin around. 

“Yeah?”

“Good luck,” Chris says with a grin. 

Eduardo tilts his head to the side, eyes questioning. “With what?”

He shakes his head, smile widening. “You know what!”

Comprehension settles into Eduardo’s eyes and he throws his head back, laughing. “I’m gonna need it,” he mutters with a small, tenuous smile. 

//

When it’s time, Chris is wheeled to the parking lot by his mother despite his protests (“Mom, I can walk, I promise,” “Chris, Dr. Zuckerberg said to be _as careful as possible_ ,”). His father trails along behind and Dustin accompanies them, and somehow he manages to charm the pants off both of them by the time they get there. 

His parents walk out to “get the car ready”, in their entirely unsubtle attempt to give them a moment alone. Chris rolls his eyes as he looks up at Dustin, who is grinning as he folds his arms across his scrubs. Dustin reaches out, offering his hand, which Chris takes as he slowly stands up with only minimal difficulty. He winces a little as he straightens, and Dustin grips tighter on his fingers. 

“Thanks,” he says, and Dustin smiles, nods. Both their gazes drop to the floor, like the weight of the moment has made them shy all of a sudden. Chris grips the handrail beside him and breathes out, in, and looks up. Dustin is still smiling, eyes bright. 

“So,” he drawls, stepping to stand beside Chris, bumping their shoulders together lightly. “I guess this is goodbye for now.”

Chris nods, swallowing and leaning back a little. “Just for a little while,” he adds, voice soft. He’s _still_ worried about breaking this, somehow, no matter how silly that sounds. 

“Hey,” Dustin says, leaning in, holding Chris’ chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting his head up. “We’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be fine.” 

The words make Chris smile, and he takes advantage of the moment to lean in and press his lips to Dustin’s. Dustin makes a happy sound and his lips tilt up, and the giddy thought flits through Chris’ head that maybe, just this once, his smile is contagious. 

When they pull back, Dustin runs his finger slowly across Chris’ cheek, still smiling. “Just a little while,” he repeats, and the words sound like a promise. 

He steps away, heading back towards the hospital, when something strikes Chris urgently. “Hey!” he calls, and Dustin turns around, eyebrows up. “Do you want my number?” Chris adds, blushing, feeling silly at the question, like they’ve stepped backward in time, or maybe across it… like if they were in some alternate universe where they had a normal relationship, this would have happened already. 

Dustin laughs. “It’s okay, I have your chart,” he replies with a wink. 

Chris scrunches up his nose playfully. “Is that ethical, Nurse Moskovitz?”

Dustin grins, shrugging. “I like to live on the edge.” And with that, he ducks back inside. 

Chris is suddenly overcome with the realization that his boyfriend is the biggest goofball in the world. 

He is thrilled with the thought. 

//

_a few months later_

//

“Hey,” Dustin bursts out when he walks through the door, dropping a kiss on Chris’ forehead on the couch as he heads to the kitchen with the grocery bags. “Did you hear the news?”

“Mark and Eduardo finally got their shit together,” Chris replies in a monotone, gaze still focused on the TV. 

“Mark and Eduardo got—” Dustin stops before cutting himself off, freezing for a moment before turning back around to look at Chris. “How did _you_ know?”

Chris looks back to shoot him a mischievous grin. “Eduardo texted me the news around noon.”

Dustin’s mouth drops open. “ _Noon_? I didn’t find out until right before I left, around five.” 

He continues to pout ridiculously, setting up shop on the kitchen counter. He removes all the items from the shopping bag one by one, turning his exaggerated frown in Chris’ direction as he gets up from the couch a little slowly, wincing as he heads over to the chairs at the island. Dustin’s hands twitch a little to go help, but he doesn’t move; he knows Chris will yell at him if he tries to help. He turns back to the taco salad ingredients, grabbing a bowl from under Chris’ arm to start putting the lettuce in, throwing a towel over his shoulder. Chris likes the way that Dustin has become comfortable here in the past three months. He knows where everything is and doesn’t need an invitation to make himself at home. (Of course, the fact that Chris needed a lot of help getting things and moving around for the first month or so must have helped a lot.)

“Why am I always the last to know?” he whines, making puppy dog eyes at the salad bowl while Chris gingerly hoists himself up into the chair, stealing a piece of lettuce. Dustin shoots him a responding glare, but Chris just smiles. He knows Dustin can’t really say no to him. 

“Maybe because they knew you’d freak out and be _too_ happy for them,” Chris suggests, almost under his breath but clearly loud enough for Dustin to hear, even as he turns around to throw the taco meat in a pan on the stove. 

Dustin spins around. “ _Christopher_!” he exclaims, faux-offended, hand thrown over his heart in his melodrama. “I could not be too happy for them; I was their _matchmaker_.” Chris rolls his eyes playfully and Dustin grins, turning back to the stove. 

They chat amiably as Dustin cooks, Chris stealing pieces of food to munch on while Dustin shoots him warning, entirely unmeant looks, as they discuss Mark and Eduardo and their relationship. Chris likes the way Dustin is when he talks like this (not that he doesn’t like Dustin all the time, but… yeah)—playful and silly and genuinely _happy_ , like he’s not worrying about work or Chris or anything else, just being his genuine, wonderful, goofy self. 

“You know,” Chris says as they sit down to dinner, “I knew they would sort things out. Even those two aren’t stupid enough to deny their feelings for each other forever.” Dustin nods in agreement. 

“Still,” Chris continues, “I’m glad we’re not like them,” he finishes as he takes a bite of his taco salad.  
Dustin shoots him a curious expression. “Why?” he asks. 

Chris smiles, small and private, looking down at his meal instead of meeting Dustin’s gaze. “ _What_?” Dustin asks again, kicking his feet affectionately under the table. Chris sighs, looking back up and smiling, a little bit sadly. 

“I don’t know if I would have been able to handle that with you, the way they did. The—the wanting each other but not being together, all the complications and stuff they had to get through before they made it here… I don’t think I could deal with _not being with you_ the way they did,” he admits with a shrug. It feels like he’s admitting a shortcoming—a lack of patience maybe, or perseverance, or _something_. 

But Dustin just smiles, slowly, and in that moment it doesn’t _seem_ like a weakness at all. It feels almost like an asset, because if things were any other way he wouldn’t _have_ Dustin. And it’s only been three months so this might seem premature (Chris isn’t sure he cares, honestly, because sure four or five months ago he would have been completely terrified of moving this quickly, feeling so much so fast, but he has _Dustin_ so it doesn’t seem as important), but he knows that Dustin is one of the things in his life that makes him the happiest, and he wants Dustin for as long as he can have him. And maybe anything that got them there—even if it’s a flaw—isn’t so bad. 

“Me too,” Dustin murmurs back, smile wide as he leans across the table to kiss Chris. It must be contagious, because then Chris is smiling too. Soon after, Dustin pulls back and walks around the table to capture the side of Chris’ face in one hand, tangle their fingers together with the other, and lead him upstairs. Their dinner sits on the table forgotten for now, but Chris really doesn’t mind. 

// 

the end


End file.
